


How to Resist Shagging Teddy Lupin

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), traintracks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, POV Second Person, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/traintracks/pseuds/traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gives a tutorial on how to resist shagging Teddy Lupin, even when you want him so bad it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Resist Shagging Teddy Lupin

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in second person, inspired by the short stories of Lorrie Moore. Written for daily_deviant.

Avoid him for a decade. It's not really avoidance. It's your job. You travel. It's exciting. You feel guilty that he hardly knows you or you him. But he's got his Gran, and he's got his friends. He's a Ravenclaw, and he has his books.

Make excuses. Get a little pissed late at night. Sleep and have dreams in which you are running and he needs saved, and you can't.

Pine.

 

When you see him again, be shocked but don't show it. Smile at him and squeeze his arm. Do not marvel at the bicep beneath your thumb. There is no need to feel like a dirty old man. You are not so old, after all.

You are, however, short. And he is rather tall. He is rather tall and fit and dashing. Do not say this or think it overly long.

Tell him 'You're looking good'. Add 'kid' if you can do it without grimacing. Scratch your chin and wonder why you didn't see fit to shave. See the twinkle in his eye and wonder if he's on potions or might be coming down with something.

When he tells you, 'It's so good to see you, Harry,' and licks his lips, DO NOT LOOK AT HIS LIPS.

Shove your hands into your pockets and tell him the guest room is all made up. Do not regret having him to your flat for the entire summer. Tell yourself that it will be fun.

Go straight to your office and lock the door until it's time to order the take-away.

 

Bundle your insecurities like socks in warm little balls. Shove them into a drawer and forget about them.

You are the Most Powerful Wizard in the World. Do not roll your eyes in your mind when you think this about yourself. Do not feel like a tool.

When Teddy Lupin wanders around your flat in his pajama bottoms only, act like this is normal behavior. It doesn't bother you. You aren't enchanted by the show of his ribs through his tanned skin. Do not ruminate on why Ravenclaws should not be tan. Ask him if he wants a game of Quidditch. When he sprawls on your sofa and stretches his tall, young body until his hairy toes curl, do not drool down your front.

YOU ARE THE MOST POWERFUL—

Oh, forget it.

Look at the carpet.

Do not look at his toes.

When he says, 'Sure, Harry. Later?' nod. Meet his eyes. This is your godson. You've been his great protector, out fighting Dark Magic in countrysides and in covert urban stings. You do it for him.

You do it so he can sprawl on your sofa with his plum-doused hair and tiny nipples and hard, openable thighs and look at you like he's hungry for something.

'Want some toast?' you say elegantly.

'Only if the butter's so thick it drips off the sides,' he informs you, an arm over his head, plummy armpit exposed, making you feel like perhaps you have were-tendencies, because you want to snarf up his scent while you pry open his openable thighs.

You want to bury your face in him and forget who you are.

You are the most powerful fucking wizard in the world.

Goddamnit.

 

When you sit together in the living room late at night reading, clear your throat every so often so that you can see him look up at you, up over his book, his glasses sliding down his nose as yours do, too. Laugh about this together. Say nothing.

Ignore the heat in your belly. Go back to the words. It doesn't matter that they're now gibberish. Read the gibberish until your heart rate slows.

If it doesn't, just keep reading.

If he licks his finger to separate the pages of his book, don't picture him licking up the underside of your cock and winking up at you. If he tilts his head just so, resist the urge to stalk over and bite down on his neck, to push him into the sofa cushions and have your way with him. If he shifts and dangles one long leg over the arm of the sofa, don't watch his foot swing.

Don't contemplate that utter beast between his legs. (Because you've caught him coming out of the shower, and you _know_.) Don't want him to thrust it between your lips and come in your mouth. 

He is the closest thing you have to a son.

_Don't._

If he scratches his stomach under his t-shirt and frowns at the text, do not see the face that he'll pull when you first enter him, when you breach him, when you ride his arse hard and fast like you don't care if it hurts.

When you do it slow and deep, rocking his body back and forth.

Get yourself under control, for fuck's sake.

Go to the kitchen and get a nice brandy.

When he follows you in, don't turn.

'Can I have one, too?' he may ask.

Assent. He's of age. Pour and try not to slosh. When he comes right up behind you and reaches around for his glass, don't breathe. Stop breathing. Just stop.

If you feel his half-hard cock against your leg, shrug it off as inevitable for a young man his age. Ignore your own cock. Even though it's leaking. Even though you _throb_ for him.

Turn casually and smile. When he doesn't move away, you may start to sweat but don't gulp.

DO NOT GULP.

Ask, 'What are you reading?'

'You've got…' he'll start and gesture to something you can't see. Whatever it is, it's on your face, for fuck's sake. Do not flinch when his finger reaches out and gently, deftly flicks something from the moist corner of your mouth.

When you taste the sweat of his skin, don't growl. When he licks the crumb off his finger, don't shove his beautiful body against the counter.

Just stand there wanting. Hate yourself a little bit.

Tell him you're going to turn in.

Retreat.

Touch yourself under the covers quietly. Think of Veelas. Think of a gang of randy witches. Think of that bloke who plays Beater for the Cannons.

Think of anything but Teddy Lupin going at you, eyes dazed, grunting.

For as long as you bloody can.

 

When you have your friends over for your birthday, tell Teddy he can invite his friends, too. 

Corner Hermione as soon as possible and ask her what she thinks of Teddy.

When she raises her eyebrows at you, interpret this as 'You're a sick freak, Harry.' Tell her, 'It's just for the summer.' When her eyebrows go up even further, blush but don't deflect. 

If Teddy's friends are arseholes, ignore it. They mostly just stand around outside smoking anyway. If Blaise Zabini's son touches Teddy a lot and Teddy seems to invite it, don't become positively mad with jealousy. Don't find yourself scowling against a wall and gripping your wand like you want to kill something, or Ron will likely give you That Look again.

Retreat to your office for Important Stuff. As everyone laughs and has a good time, run your hands through your hair and curse beneath your breath.

'Harry?'

Don't turn.

Don't you bloody turn!

Say, 'Am I missing the cake?'

When you hear the door click closed, don't panic. Your mouth goes dry, but still don't turn. Close your eyes.

He'll come near. Don't turn your head. You already know he looks edible in his jeans and black t-shirt, his hair gone green for the occasion. Don't think about how that body was made for sex and all the things you could do to it and him to you.

'Can I do anything?' he asks.

Laugh mirthlessly at this. Because he can blow you, he can lay over your desk, panting and ready while you stroke yourself off, he can probably fuck like a race horse.

Snap your head around and look at him. Look at him hard. Let him see. 

You're going to strip his jeans down, bend him over, and wail on his arse with your belt for making you fucking feel this.

You're going to strip off all your clothes and stand there before him with your arms out, shivering.

'Am I your hero now? Am I your bloody savior?' you'll shout. "I'll just bet you fuck like the world's ending. Fuck me like the world's ending, Teddy.'

He's looking at you with hope, with trust, with abandon.

Tell him no. 'No, you can't.' But don't move away when he brushes up against you. Don't acknowledge that this is inappropriate. That it always has been.

You hear his shuddering breath, his nervousness. Don't react except to close your eyes again. When he places his hand over yours on the desk and squeezes warmly, don't unball your fist. When he whispers in your ear, 'Let me, Harry,' think about dropping all pretense.

Your eyes flash open.

 _Look_ at him.

Let your gaze slide to his lips. You could push him to his knees right now, and he'd willingly go. You know this.

You both know this.

Who doesn't want to suck Harry Potter's cock? Think this derisively and hopefully at the same time.

When he licks his lips, say his name softly in warning.

When he tilts his head, bringing his nervous lips close, don't move. Don't breathe. Don't be.

Feel his breath whispering your name.

He tells you he's hard. He tells you it's you. He demolishes the boundary. Exist in that contaminated moment, delirious. You're ready to snog him senseless. You're ready to damn your own soul. Grab his wrist tight. Grit your teeth. Curse his name and hear him gasp. 

Lean in. 

It's already happening. You're going to fuck. You're going to do it like animals. You're going to be so dirty together. Tear at one another like beasts. You're going to fuck fuck fuck, like men and like boys. 

'I can make it good for you, Harry,' he almost moans. 

He's going to fuck you longer and harder than you can even stand. 

Over your desk, whipping his hips. 

You'll ride him on the floor, his hands pulling you down for it. 

He'll make you so sore.

And they'll all hear it. They'll all know you're a sick bloody fuck. You don't care. You're aching hard, and you don't care. Breathe hot against his lips. Feel him shudder. Lean in.

Lean in…

When the door opens, clear your throat. Don't jump back. Teddy will have done enough of that for both of you. If he looks guilty as hell, forgive him. Turn to the door, see that it's Ron, and yes, it's about your cake. When he frowns, just give him a curt nod. Stack some papers. Tell Teddy you'll talk later.

You're _dying_ inside.

Walk out.

Suffer through the rest of your party. Feel undeserving. Smile while they toast you.

You dirty old man.

 

Don't talk about it later.

Never talk about it.

Try for distance. Feel creepy. Leave the house a lot. Wander around London. Go to porn theatres and whack off. Sift through books at Flourish and Blotts. Buy him one like a good godfather. Have them wrap it in safe, blue paper. 

When you see him again at dinner, keep changing the subject.

Don't wonder what it would be like to taste his young cock sliding hot back into your throat.

Don't dream about doing him face to face so he can see you strive over him.

Certainly don't picture what he'd be like on top of _you_. In _you_.

Don't picture loving him.

Be a jerk instead. Be half-cruel. Push him away for his own good.

Ignore the hurt looks, the jutting chin, the one-too-many pints.

Tell yourself it's for the best.

Watch him go out with his friends and don't sigh. Don't feel sorry for yourself.

Take a work assignment that means being gone for five weeks.

Get some fresh air.

Get perspective.

Be a coward but call it being an adult.

Miss him.

Miss him terribly.

 

When you return, feel like shit about how things are between you.

But when he asks for that Quidditch match, smile and agree. Enjoy the brisk air on your skin as you fly.

When he beats the pants off you, don't show him how shocked you are. How turned on you are. Reassure yourself that, had you really tried, you would have practically killed him.

Do not wonder if this makes him a good match for you, if he could best you in bed. If he'd tie you down and _engorgio_ his cock inside of you and make you scream yourself hoarse.

If you let him take control, what would he do? If you give him what he wants, what will it cost?

Forget all that bollocks. 

He doesn't want you, you creepy git. He wants Harry Potter. The scar, the warrior. He doesn't want the old queen who'll take it on all fours like a pig.

Don't let go.

Make dinner and enjoy his company.

In the weeks you've been gone, he's learned how to joke again, to smile.

He has a job interview in a few days. Would you look over his resume? Of course you would. Pat him on the back.

See his mask slip. Feel your own falter.

Leave your hand on him, let it slip to his hip. Blink your eyes. Want so badly you could weep. 

You've never fucked on the kitchen floor. 

Wonder…

See him see it all in your eyes. See him smile a little. See in him a great chess player who has unveiled your next five moves.

'I'm glad you're home, Harry,' he says. That wicked little smile playing at his mouth while he casts his gaze down your body appreciatively.

Snatch your lecher hand away.

And go ahead and gulp now, because even though he's walking away, he's giving you your space, it is all just a matter of time.

It's not a matter of if.

It is _only_ a matter of time.

Teddy Lupin _wants_ your arse.

Withstand.

For one more day, withstand.

But start to dream about how it will feel.

Once you don't.


End file.
